Dancing Dragons
by LotusFlower08
Summary: Fem!Harry/Rhaegar twincest. Juniper Potter reborn as Alysanne 'Alys Snow' Targaryen, daughter of Rhaegar/Lyanna and twin of Daemon 'Snow' Targaryen, who is actually Rhaegar reborn. She is forced by Death to go to Westeros and fight against the White Walkers.. Assuming she and her twin survive the War of Kings. And the best way to survive? Take the throne that is their birthright.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello readers.**

 **This is a Fem!Harry/Rhaegar incest/twincest fic. In case you haven't noticed, Fem!Harry is my thing and pretty much all I write. This story will have all my favorite gushy-ness and it will most likely be riddled with cliches and maybe even plotholes.**

 **I don't have a beta, so if anyone is interested please send me a PM. Until then excuse any spelling errors, and don't mind my 'to' and 'too' problem, _logically_ I know the difference but putting it into practice still seems to allude me... **

1.

 _Insanity in Death..._

June should have expected this.

The last time she found herself in this place, no more than an hour ago, it should have been obvious that her reprieve from the endless white would be short lived... pun intended. And yet, she had not suspected as such at the time. She had allowed herself to hope she could finally finish the war, and live freely and happily without the burden of prophecy weighing her down, a fools hope it turns out.

She should have known better, _really_ she should have; hope was a dangerous thing, especially for Juniper Potter.

But she supposed it didn't matter much anymore, not since she was again standing nude in the middle of an unnaturally clean Kings Cross Station. How she got there she wasn't really sure, the last thing she remembered was Voldemort's spell rebounding back on him once again, green light, and again she found herself wishing for clothes. A Hogwarts school uniform appeared just a few feet away. At least death was convenient, she thought sarcastically, though that did little to take away from the sting of knowing she died... _again_.

It seemed that while they couldn't live _with_ each other, they also couldn't live _without_ each other.. how poetic.. romantic even.. and most of all _disgusting._

There was _nothing_ in existence June hated more than Tom Riddle and his sick infatuation with her. She truly hoped he was burning in the deepest circle of hell. If there was _anyone_ who deserved such a fate, in her opinion, it was _him_. Then again, she probably _shouldn't_ wish for such a thing, with her luck he'd find a way to drag her down into the pits with him.

An eternity with Voldemort.. that was a hell she didn't even want to imagine, never mind the fire and brimstone.

A shiver ran down the ravenette's spine once she finished dressing, and it had nothing to do with her morbid thoughts from a moment ago, she felt eyes on her. June wished she had her wand, but unfortunately, _that_ didn't magically appear. Green eyes narrowed; quickly taking in the clean, almost blindingly white, and most importantly- _empty_ train station.

There was no one to be seen, but she knew that she was being watched.

It was a part of the madness associated with being the 'Girl-Who-Lived', she was _always_ being watched. It got to the point that she recognized the sensation instantly, she was also able to ignore the eyes that lingered on her when she choose to. But the eyes focused on her then didn't feel like the kind that _could be_ ignored- not that she would if she could, she was far to curious and weary about the identity of the person who decided to join her in her little piece of limbo, while she waited for the train- their stare was far to heavy to brush aside.

"Professor?" Her doubtful voice echoed into the white space, disappearing into the thin mist at the end of the platform she was standing on.

"No no no, try again!" An unfamiliar, childish, male voice commanded playfully.

But the unnerving part was, it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Spinning in place, her attempts to pinpoint her watcher became much more frenzied, her emerald eyes jumping from place to place wildly, still seeing no one. Again, she _really_ wished she had her wand.

"Who's there?!" She demanded as harshly as she could in that moment, despite the unease curdling in her stomach.

"Don't you want to play, Champion? I've been waiting for you for _so long_." That proclamation only served to disturb her further.

"Champion?" She muttered to herself, body stiff and eyes still roaming her surroundings. "I don't know who you are, but I don't want to play any games. Show yourself, or leave."

There was an echoing giggle, the childish sound completely out of place in the expanse of white.

"As you wish my Champion." The reply was said in a sing-song voice, with a hint of mocking.

The being, because there was _no way_ it was human, emerged from the white mist at the far side of the platform.

It looked as it sounded, like a child, barely more than a toddler. June wasn't fooled. It wore all white linen trousers and a long sleeved v neck top made of the same material, they were a size or two to large on the small frame, and so sheer they were almost transparent. It moved with an unnatural grace, but at the same time it's movements were jerky, like it's limbs were unused to bending in such a way.

Watching it move was like something out of a horror film.

It was incredibly creepy, and despite the fact that the raven haired girl had faced down mythical beasts, Dark Lords, and evil minions, she still couldn't stop herself from taking several steps back as it approached her. A nagging, _horrifying_ suspicion started to take root in her mind, she was almost sure she knew what this _thing_ was.. though she didn't dare to name it, not even in the privacy of her own mind. Fear and confusion, unlike anything she had ever felt filled her, making her hands shake under the onslaught.

When it was only feet away from where she was standing, backed against a pillar, it looked up, and she saw it's face for the first time. A gasp left her lips, it was beautiful, inhuman, but _so beautiful_. It's skin was pure white, like the thin clothes it was wearing, and silky hair the color of the void crowned it's head in springy curls. Eyes of bright silver looked at her in some form of amusement, blood red lips pulled into a too large smile, exposing sharp bone-white teeth.

There wasn't a flaw to be found in the angelic face, and tears streaked down her cheeks unbidden to her at the creatures otherworldly appearance. Such perfection wasn't meant to be seen by human eyes, that she was sure of, and she had to stop herself from falling to her knees before it. She didn't kneel, not ever. But absently, June thought she finally understood why some people spent their entire lives chasing and courting _Death_.

But the thought was fleeting, and left as soon as it came when the thing was staring up at her from it's deceptively young face.. looking for all the world as nothing more than a five year old boy.

"Hello _my_ Champion." It's silver eyes -which shone so brilliantly they put the stars to shame- radiated the same possessiveness that reflected in it's voice.

June shivered again, pressing her back more firmly against the pillar, which she was pretty sure was the only thing holding her up at that point.

"You're..." Her voice cracked before trailing off. Again, she couldn't bring herself to think it, never mind voice the thought aloud.

" _Death.._ " It _purred_ happily, it's smile widening even further.

When it reached out for her, a strangled whimper escaped her throat against her will, she _really_ didn't want it to touch her.. And where the _bloody hell_ was that train?!

"You are afraid of me.." The amusement in it's face and voice vanished instantly, leaving a storm of fury in its place. " _YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE AFRAID OF ME!_ "

It screamed at her, loud and angry, making the ground under her feet shake.

It's small body leaned in closer to her, fire burning in it's eyes like two barely contained supernovas. June's entire body trembled. Instinct was screaming at her to apologize, to beg for forgiveness. But not only was she sure that would just enrage it more, and she didn't want to incur it's... _Death's_... she didn't want to incur _Death's_ wrath further, but she also couldn't bring herself to grovel in such a way. Even if she was facing a deranged deity in a temper tantrum, her pride would be the death of her.. if she wasn't _already dead_ of course..

Taking a deep breath, and fighting with all she had for a _smidgen_ of self control, the ravenette pushed the _absolute terror_ of being confronted by death personified to the back of her mind, because she honestly couldn't deal with that at the moment. The deity in a small boy's body was pacing erratically in front of her.

".. not supposed to be afraid.. my Chosen.. my Champion.. she cannot fear me, she is MINE!" The terror she managed to push back nearly overwhelmed her once again when she heard Death's muttered words.

"I don't fear death." If her voice shook no one was there to call her on it. "I'm just surprised, socked, and a bit overwhelmed is all."

And it wasn't a complete lie. She wasn't afraid of being dead, but the idea of meeting Death itself never even crossed her mind. It.. he.. Death was just so alien to her. And he made her feel unbelievably.. small and fragile.

" _Lies!_ You are afraid! I can _feel_ it." The small deity stopped pacing and turned on her once more, pinning her in place with his burning silver eyes. Wetting her lips, June forced herself to calm down, to relax her stiff posture.

"Well.. you're being a bit off putting." The truth spilled out before she could stop it, and she winced, expecting him to get angry once again.

"Off putting?" Death frowned in confusion, eyebrows puckering slightly in thought. "I chose this form to put you at ease, mortals like children."

"Well yes, but only when they actually _are_ children, otherwise its.. er.. creepy."

"Creepy." He repeated the word with little to no inflection. "What form would you prefer I take?" The child-like face looked up at her in confusion, his head tilting to the side like a baby bird.

It was official, this was the strangest thing she had ever experienced in her existence, and the bar on that had been set pretty high.

Before she had a chance to reply that it was more the erratic behavior mixed with the childish face, Death shifted in front of her eyes. Where a painfully beautiful child stood less than a second before, there was now a _heartbreakingly gorgeous_ boy around her age looking down at her from his now taller height. If she were still in her actual body, June was sure her mind, and ovaries, would have exploded just from looking at him.

Such perfection _shouldn't be_ possible.

"Wow.." Green eyes stared at him in wonder. And when he smiled, seemingly pleased with her reaction, it was like the sun breaking over the horizon and she had to look away to stop herself from succumbing to tears once again.

"My Champion.." Her head turned to the side, short raven locks swaying with the motion, just in time to see Death's (who was much closer than he had been a moment ago) hand about to make contact with her face.

If her heart was still beating it would have been pounding in her chest.

For some reason she expected him to be cold, but he wasn't, his skin was actually warm.. very warm.. and something inside her seem too both rejoice and recoil at the touch. Long thin, pale digits traced over her face as she consciously kept her body from tensing. He was so close to her, their noses were almost touching. Again, she was highly unnerved by the deity's actions, and most especially, by the possessiveness still shining in his eyes as he seemed to memorize her features.

"Um.." She bit the side of her lip, wondering how to voice the many questions tumbling through her mind, and ignoring the finger that ran down the slope of her nose. "What exactly is going on?" That seemed like the safest place to start.

Apparently she was wrong about that being a safe question, because as soon as the words left her lips Death's still far to close face dropped into a... pout. The deity was _honest to god_ pouting, and June wasn't sure if she should laugh, cry, or laugh until she cried. It was so incredibly surreal.

Death sighed in annoyance, pulling away from her personal space, the pout still decorating his sculpted blood red lips.

"We will need the Dragon Prince." His voice was also annoyed, and with a negligent wave of the god's hand a new person, who she assumed was the 'Dragon Prince', was standing several feet away from them.

The man looked confused for a moment, until his bright eyes landed on Death, upon seeing the unhappy deity recognition filled his unusual eyes. Interestingly, he seemed to have some experience with dealing with the God of Death. Making a mental note of the familiarity between the two, June took a moment to look the new addition to her limbo over. The 'Dragon Prince' was handsome, tall and lean with silver hair, and deep indigo eyes.

For a second she wondered if he was a veela, he certainly was pretty enough to be with his perfectly proportioned face, and with that hair color.. but then she remembered that there were _no_ male veela so that was impossible.

Besides the almost veela-ish good looks, which would outshine any normal man but didn't really hold a candle to Death's impossible beauty, what really caught her eye was the strange armor he was wearing. It was very reminiscent of the suits of armor that stood guard in the halls of Hogwarts, but he wasn't wearing a helm, and his armor wasn't shining silver but deep black with red accents. The metal was designed in such a way that it looked like thousands of overlapping scales, and rubies were embedded in the breastplate, forming a mosaic of a three headed dragon.

How old was this.. soul.. if he was wearing such archaic armor?

The Dragon Prince opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out, and when he looked to Death in question, he only received a scathing glare in return. June's eyebrows scrunched in confusion, was he incapable of speaking, or was Death not allowing him to speak?

"He can't talk?" She looked at back at Death in question, he was still staring down the newcomer, who's eyes were lowered in the face of the deity's obvious displeasure with him.

"He doesn't need to, he is here to listen, nothing more." The ravenette's frown deepened at the blasé tone.

"You don't like him?" The impossibly silver eyes locked on her face once again, taking in her frown, and frowning himself in apparent confusion.

"I do not care for him either way. He is just one soul out of trillions. There is nothing special about him, excluding his compatibility with you, and the fact that he hails from the world I am most interested in at the moment." If anything her frown deepened further, for some reason she thought that was a lie, or at least only a partial truth.

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand what's going on. I'm dead, right? I died _again_. Why are you here, why do you keep calling me 'Champion,' and why is he here?" She gestured in the direction of the armored prince who's eyes she could feel studying her. "And what do you mean he's compatible with me? Other worlds? What's going on?!"

In an instant Death's face was directly in front of hers again. A huge smile beaming at her from only inches away. His hands came up to gently rest against her cheekbones, covering her cheeks, and over her jawline. When the breath hitched in her throat he leaned in closer still, their noses bumping together, and another giggle echoed throughout the train station.

"Mortal's are always so curious, so full of questions, normally it is very troublesome, but I can forgive you my Chosen." June shifted slightly under the beings hold, careful not to dislodge his hands in case it angered him. "Come."

Backing away, he grabbed her hand completely ignoring the silent armored man, and started pulling her towards the bench further down the platform, the one she had sat on while talking with Dumbledore about the horcruxes and Hallows. Those Merlin be damned Hallows, this _had_ to be their fault.

Getting the hint when he stared at her expectantly, June sat, watching as the god carefully observed her before repeating her movements. His body bent awkwardly, and she realized he had never preformed the action before. How strange, to think that a being that (most likely) existed since time immortal had never sat down before. It raised the question of what form he usually took, because he was obviously not used to being in the shape of a human body.

Then again, she probably didn't want to know, some questions were better off unanswered.

Turning slightly, she caught a glimpse of the prince who had followed them towards the bench, before putting all her attention on the being beside her. The raven haired girl wanted to pull a Hermione, and bombard him with more questions, and demand he answer the ones she had already voiced, but she realized it would probably be unwise to demand _anything_ from Death. And so she waited, with barely concealed impatience.

"You are dead." The deity told her unapologetically, still keeping a tight hold of her hand. "Your ties to that world have been cut, you cannot go back again. I call you my Champion, because you _are_ my Champion, you have passed my tests, and have now been blessed by me three times. Once in your infancy, and twice on this very day. The prince is here because he will be needed."

Looking into his cosmic eyes, June wondered if she could get away with pointing out that he didn't answer all her questions.

"And the other world ting?" She just couldn't help herself it seemed.

"There are many worlds Champion, many universes, an infinite amount in fact. The world the Dragon Prince was born to has fallen. The Promised Prince has failed, all life forms have been destroyed, and the planet has been overrun by abominations." Deaths inhuman face twisted in rage. "Creatures that circumvent my will, that dare to defy Death! _Broken, twisted abortions!_ " The unnatural white surrounding the platform seemed to darken around the edges in his fury.

"I see.." She really didn't, her only goal was distract the angry death god because the floor was starting to shake under her feet again, and fear was once again churning in her stomach like acid.

"Creatures of ice and broken death, and they go further still to insult me, by raising the dead for their armies." His stare was locked off into the distance, and the floor shook more violently. And then he smiled, a demented smile that was far more terrifying than his angry expression had been. And that was when the ravenette knew, Death was insane, _completely and utterly mad_.

" _I_ am prevented from interfering by the Ancient Laws, and that, my beloved, is why _you_ are here."

Dread, pure, unadulterated dread infused every fiber of her being.

No, he couldn't mean what she thought he meant by that. She refused to even consider the idea. Her hand unconsciously tightened around the to warm hand still grasping her own.

"... I don't understand." June admitted for the second time, this time far more cautiously.

Death laughed, sharp and unforgiving.

"Oh, but I think you do." The god sing-songed. "I may not be able to interfere directly, but _you_ can, and with the complete loss of life the planet has fallen into my domain. I have far more power than I would normally be granted over a specific world, enough to send my Champion to a set point in the timeline to help the new Prince Who Was Promised. You both will go and do what I cannot, kill the blasphemers."

"No." Ripping her hand away from Death, June stood, anger overriding her fear and commonsense like any good Gryffindor. "No, nope. _Not interested_. I'm done with war, done. Do you hear me?! DONE. I'm not interested in going to some other world, and fighting again. This isn't my world you're talking about, it's not my problem, I fought my war. I'm dead, I want to _stay dead_. Just send me to my parents."

"You are _MINE!_ You will do as I command, or I will keep you here with me for eternity." The deity stood as well, yelling into her face, his eyes cold. Again the ground was shaking, but she was to full of self righteous fury to care.

"I am NOT yours, I don't belong to _anyone!_ And I'm done fighting, I already told you. I've fought an undead army once before, it wasn't fun, and I have no intentions of doing it again." Her mind went back to the horcrux cave full of inferi, that night had fueled her nightmares for months, and not only because it was the night Dumbledore died.

"You _are_ mine." A warm hand wrapped around her throat, stopping her in her tracks. "And you _will_ help destroy the beasts who's very existence is an offense to me."

June opened her mouth to argue, but found that -like the unnamed prince- she couldn't speak. The realization felt something like betrayal, but she didn't understand why. Still, that betrayal shone in the depths of her emerald eyes clearly for the God of Death to see, and the anger melted from his face at an almost alarming pace.

His mood swings were truly unnerving.

"Forgive me my beloved, but I am afraid you do not have a choice. Fear not, I am not cruel -not always- sometimes Death is a gift. And I shall give you many gifts to see your task fulfilled. When it is done I will release you, and you will live out your life until it is time for you to return to me once again, on that day I will reunite you with those you've loved and lost... But if you fail... I will send you and the prince back again until you succeed."

Opening her mouth, she again found she was incapable of speech. So instead she tore herself from the gods grasp, and settled for glaring at him defiantly. An arm brushing against her own had her looking to the side quickly, it was the prince, she had almost forgotten about him. He was standing beside her, and June wondered when he had gotten so close. But her attention was diverted when Death sighed, as if _she_ was the one being unreasonable.

"I see you are not pleased with me." He looked put out at that. "You will forgive me in time. Onto the gifts." The deity's smile suddenly returned, and he clapped his hands together twice in excitement.

"First I gift to you the prince, he shall be the new Promised Prince where his son has failed, and your guide and closest confidant. The bond will ensure he is ever loyal to you, though I warn you, it will work both ways."

Bond? She wasn't sure she liked the sound of that, but she didn't like the sound of anything else the deranged god was saying either.

"Second an ally. Returned to his body only moments before his death was set to occur, with his memories intact. He will be your teacher, defender, and loyal to the prince and yourself above all others."

Death gave another wave of his hand, and another man appeared on the platform, he too was garbed in full armor. Unlike the prince, the new man's armor was bright silver, and a pure white cloak hung from his shoulders. He was about as tall as the prince, but had hair the color of tarnished silver, and light brown eyes. If she was asked to choose, the raven haired girl would be hard pressed to say which of the two were more attractive, though she was pretty sure the veela-like prince would win out in the end.

Strangely the new comer didn't seem overly surprised to be there, that too was interesting, why were both men largely unaffected by meeting the God of Death? It seemed to her that they had met him before, like they were expecting for this to happen, like they had been forewarned. The two men met at half the distance between them, grasping forearms in greeting, and their eyes conveying an entire conversation she didn't have a hope of understanding.

"Next my Champion, I shall grant you two protectors. They will find you when the time is right." The smile he gave her then was pure mischief.

"I can not give you the same magic you possessed in your first life. That too is against the Ancient Laws, the introduction of foreign magic will unbalance the fabric of the universe." He commented absently, as if he were taking about the weather while approaching her once again, and taking her hand as June stood there in shock, jaw hung open at the very idea of losing her magic. "But I can gift you with all the talents of your new bloodlines, you will discover them in time."

Shaking her head from side to side wildly, June felt her breathing increase, this was all happening too fast, _way too fast_. He needed to stop, to be quiet, just for a second so she could catch her barrings. She looked over, trying to gain some support from the prince and the man Death called an ally, but they were gone. Neither of them anywhere to be seen.

Spinning the raven haired girl searched the platform more thoroughly, they had seemingly disappeared.

"Calm beloved, there is nothing to fear. You shall see your new companions soon." Her face was once again grasped by large warm hands, Death rested his forehead against her own, forcibly holding her head in place as she struggled, and staring into her eyes with an intensity no mortal could achieve. "I have one final gift for you, the mind magics from your world are not unlike the equivalent in your new destination. I shall grant you mastery over these magics, though not all at once." He ran his hand that wasn't holding her in place over her face again, his eyes filling with sorrow. "Our time is gone Chosen, five boons I have given you, use them wisely, or history will repeat itself. I will see you again my beloved, mayhap sooner than you think."

And then, before she could fight free of his hold, or attempt to scream, no matter how futile either would have proven, warm lips pressed against her own, and the endless white turned to black.

 **Please take a moment to review! Did this come out as convoluted as I think it did?**

 **Bonus points if you caught the Supernatural quote. Oh Death, you're not Lucifer silly!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello readers!**

 **I meant to put this in the AN at the beginning of the first chapter, but forgot until the reviews brought it to my attention. This is another of my stories I have saved and am going over and re-posting after making several changes. So that is possibly why it looks familiar to some of you.**

 **I have no beta, so excuse any mistakes, and I've all but given up on the to/too thing, I'm not even trying anymore, sorry. If anyone is interested in being a beta please message me.**

 **I don't own either of the fandom's, and will make no money from this story.  
**

2.

 _The Twin Dragons..._

Ned Stark...

The young lord of eight and ten was tired of sand, the journey from Storms End through the Red Mountains of Dorne had only taken a sennight, but to Ned Stark it felt as though several moons had passed him by. And the sand, it was everywhere, it got _everywhere._ The new Lord Stark, could feel the grainy substance covering every inch of his skin, and filling his well worn leather boots.

With how much he was sweating under the unforgiving desert sun it stuck to him, making him feel as though he was coated in grime and dust. His skin was dry, lips chapped and cracking, and even breathing filled his nose and mouth with the relentless grains of sand. It was unbearable, and left the young northern born man questioning how the Dornish dealt with the _constant_ onslaught on a daily basis.

The Quiet Wolf would not mourn his leaving the southern most kingdom of Westeros, in his opinion, the day couldn't come fast enough. First he would find Lyanna, _he would find her_ , and then he would bring her home and introduce her to his newborn son he had gotten word of via raven less than a moon before. He had an heir, much to Ned's pride, the old gods had truly blessed his union with the eldest Tully girl on that front.

Robb Stark, he was sure Lyanna, and Benjen too, would love him as much as Ned himself already did.

As much as Brandon, and their father, surely would have.

And if her ordeal proved to be too much, if the scars of the rebellion haunted his sister, he would keep her in the North, and Robert would have to find a new queen. He was of half a mind to keep her north either way, it did not sit well with him to think of Lyanna standing beside a throne Robert had stepped over the bloodied corpses of babes to claim. But thinking about what the she-wolf of his pack must have endured in the almost full year since her abduction had all thoughts of the inconvenience of sand, murdered children, and even his own newborn son fleeing his mind.

 _Lyanna..._

His free spirited sister with as much wolf-blood as their eldest brother, Brandon, possessed in his life. The girl with an untamable mop of long dark curls flying behind her in the wind as she laughed and rode her horse as though she had been born in the saddle. The young woman who could wield a blade as well as any man, and may the old gods have mercy on the one who dared to tell her otherwise.

His sister, with mischief and passion shimmering in her Stark grey eyes. What horrors had she been subjected to? How much of her innocence had been stolen?

He would _not_ think on it, they were still several hours from the Tower of Joy, it would do no good to dream up scenarios -each worse than the last- when his mind should be focused on _nothing_ but retrieving his younger sister.

With that thought in mind, the grim faced Stark lord called out to his companions, digging his heels into the sides of his large rustic colored mare at the same time, to quicken the pace. Lyanna had waited long enough, he would not dally.

The small party of northern men, consisting of; Ned himself, Howland Reed, Lord William Dustin, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, and Ser Mark Ryswell, rode at top speed for hours, nearly running their horses into the ground. It was well after midday when they made it into Dayne lands, and could finally see the tall single sandstone tower standing in the distance.

Ned's pulse increased, he was close, _so close,_ to the goal he had fought and bled for, the reason he had called his bannermen and brought the men of the North south of the Neck to wage war. The reason thousands died as the Seven Kingdoms tore themselves apart. She was here, he could _feel_ it, but there was one obstacle still standing in his way. At the base of the tower he could make out the forms of three members of the fallen Kingsguard in their silver armor and flowing capes the color of summer snows.

As the party neared, the features of the men became visible, and Ned would not deny he felt a spike of nerves when he made out the vestige of Ser Arthur Dayne. The Sword of the Morning was one of the strongest and most renowned members of the Kingsguard in generations, and though they outnumbered them seven to three, the Lord Stark knew the battle to come was far from won. The wielder of the legendary sword, Dawn, was sitting off to the side running a whetstone over said blade. While, who Ned thought was, Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Oswell Whent stood sentry over the only visible entrance to the tower.

"Ned?" Howland Reed spoke in a questioning tone.

"We will confront them, if Lyanna is here.. they will not stand in our way." The grim frown on his long face deepened, but his tone was resigned, and his hands tightened on the leather reins in his gloved hands. It was obvious he didn't believe they were getting out of there without a fight.

"We outnumber them, I do not fear disgraced southern knights." Ethan Glover, one of Brandon's closest comrades since they had been boys, spat angrily.

It was almost _exactly_ what he would have expected his own brother to say, had he been there.. it was still a foolish declaration.

Raising a single hand, the young lord heard more than saw the other riders come to a stop just behind him. Dismounting, the Northern men made their way to the last of the loyal Targaryen Kingsguard. There was a long moment of tense silence as the two opposing groups took the others' measure.

"I looked for you on the Trident." Ned broke the stalemate calmly, not speaking to any of them in particular, his eyes not losing the steel that seemed to infuse them.

"We were not there." Ser Gerold answered with an elegant shrug of his caped shoulders.

"Woe to the Usurper if we had been." Ser Oswell added in derision, his disgust for Robert plain on his thin features.

"When King's Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were."

"Far away." Ser Gerold stated, but giving no more detail. "Or Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne, and our false brother would burn in the Seven Hells."

"I came down on Storm's End to lift the siege." The Northern lord spoke to the Hightower knight then. "The Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners, and all their knights bent the knee to pledge us fealty. I was certain you would be among them."

"Our knees do not bend easily." Ser Arthur added, speaking for the first time since the Northern party dismounted.

"Ser Willem Darry has fled to Dragonstone, with your queen and Prince Viserys. I thought you might have sailed with him." The Quiet Wolf looked into the other mans sharp brown eyes.

"Ser Willem is a good man and true..." Ser Oswell started.

"But not of the Kingsguard," Ser Gerold finished. "The Kingsguard does not flee."

"Then or now." The Sword of the Morning stood, donning his helm as he explained simply. "We swore a vow."

Ned's silent companions moved up beside him, with swords in hand.

"And now it begins." Arthur Dayne mummered. He spun Dawn once before holding it towards Ned with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, and seemingly alive with the light glimmering across the metal.

"No." Ned corrected with sadness in his voice. "Now it ends."

The battle that followed was, like all small scale battles were, quick and brutal.

The Quiet Wolf struck at once, engaging Ser Arthur with Lord Dustin at his side. The other four, excluding Howland, split and attacked the other knights in sets of two. Howland was standing slightly off to the side, close enough to help, but not get in the way. The small squat crannogman being more of an ambush predator.

Unfortunately, the skill of the Kingsguard seemed to be beyond that of the Northern men, and Lord Dustin and Martyn Cassel fell quickly to Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold respectfully. Ned pushed the Sword of the Morning harder, forcing him to keep his full attention on himself. Their blades clashing with the sound of ringing steel.

He blocked and paired a blow that would have broken his sword if he had been using any other besides his ancestral blade, Ice, but knew he was at a large disadvantage. The knight was both taller and broader at the shoulder- stronger, and he could admit- the better swordsman. So fighting him in a head on assault was not ideal. The other man also had the advantage of being raised in these lands, they were in Dayne territory, and Ser Arthur had plenty of experience fighting in the heat of the desert sun on unsturdy sand.

A shout caught the Stark lords attention, almost costing him his own duel, and his eyes flicked to the side to see Ser Oswell impaled on the end of Ethan's sword. But the Glover heir didn't pull the sword back quickly enough and lost his head to the Hightower knight, who barely spared the rolling head and shower of blood a glance before engaging one of the few knights of the North, Mark Ryswell.

Ned didn't have time to observe the fight, however he did see Howland swiftly move towards the two men, Ser Arthur seemed to have taken offense to his inattention, and started raining down blows upon the wolf. It was one small miscalculation, a misstep by only an inch or so, that brought his battle with the closest friend of the Dragon Prince to a swift end.

The infamous knight used the opening provided by his slight stumble to disarm him before Ned could so much as blink, when his sword was lying in the sand Ser Arthur sent a hard kick to his chest, sending the wolf onto his backside in his full armor. Just as he rose his blade to deliver the finishing blow, the young Stark lord saw Howland sneaking up behind the other man ready to stab him in the back, when Arthur Dayne did something that brought both Northern men up short.

He froze.

A howled scream of agonizing pain left the knights mouth, though neither man had touched him, his famed sword fell from his fingers as his hands came up to grasp and pull at his short dark silver hair, and then then he fell to his knees in the sand, swaying before seeming to lose consciousness and falling fully to the ground.

Ned and Howland looked at each other, wide eyed and bewildered, neither having an explanation of the knights tortured scream or his loss of consciousness. There was one long, still moment, before Ned scrambled to his feet, though he didn't take his eyes off the other man, who was still unmoving.

"Should we..?" Howland trailed off, waving his sword slightly in question.

"No." The Quite Wolf denied instantly with a grimace. "I will not execute a downed man, we take him to Kings Landing, let Robert deal with him."

"Mark is dead, he wasn't much of a match for Ser Gerold, but I got the Hightower when his back was turned."

"So only the two of us made it through." A hand came up to rub at his face tiredly, as his eyes lowered in respect for the fallen men that had been under his command. "We'll bring their bodies back with us, it's the least they deserve after all we've been through over the past year. I-" But the scream of a woman echoing down from the top of the tower cut off anything the Stark Lord was about to say.

" _LYANNA!_ "

* * *

Arthur Dayne...

Consciousness came back to him and brought with it a fierce, pounding pain in his head, making his ears ring, and forcing him to squint his pale brown eyes against the harsh light of the Dornish sun. Disorientation clouded his mind for a moment as the Sword of the Morning struggled to his feet. But then he remembered... _by the Seven..._

Arthur remembered dying, in the battle he had apparently just made it out of thanks to his collapse. He remembered being taken into the Strangers realm, to a field of pure white with grass as clear as crystal, where Rhaegar was awaiting him beside a condensed shadow -more beast than man in form- with the silver eyes of a god. Realizing he had been taken before the Stranger himself, Arthur immediately fell to his knees before the God of Death, but the wrath seemed to have no interest in him at all. Instead it turned on Rhaegar, something like anger or hatred radiating from its semi-solid form, and hissed at the prince.

 _"You will stay here until I have need of you mortal."_

The word 'mortal' was said with the highest degree of disgust, and then he was gone.

With the god having taken his leave, Rhaegar explained everything he knew about their situation, which wasn't much. It was a huge relief to hear the prophecy his friend had obsessed over for years was actually real, not that he was happy about what such a thing implied.. White Walkers.. Seven be good, but because he had been increasingly worried his friend was falling into the notorious Targaryen madness over the inane ramblings of a woods witch.

The telling of a Promised Prince was true, the son born to Princess Lyanna in the Tower of Joy -the son that no longer existed- but he would would fail in his task. And that was why they were there, barred access to the afterlife, forced to wait for a Champion the Stranger would be sending to fight the Others beside Rhaegar. His friend had no details about this supposed Champion, the Stranger refused to say anything about the man, but Rhaegar was convinced they were somehow _precious_ to the deity.

It sounded like a grand jest, a man who was precious to a god, _surely_ that _had_ to be a jest?

It was impossible to measure time in that open white field, the light never dimmed, there was no feeling of days passing, no need for sleep or food, just one moment stretching on infinitely. But they were far from idle. Hand to hand spars, since neither had a sword, were commonplace. There were many conversations about the Walkers, mock battle plans were made, and strategies were discussed.

The problem was, they knew very little about the actual creatures, even the countless books Rhaegar had read on the subject of the Long Night were useless. And all Arthur knew were the more common stories told to children of the North to insure they ate their greens and didn't give their nursemaids any trouble when it was time to retire for the night.

Something Arthur _wholeheartedly_ agreed with the prince on was; to have any chance of defeating the White Walkers at some future point, they would need to unite the Seven Kingdoms under one banner. They would need to take the throne back. Dragonstone would be the most crucial point to have in their control, the entire island was full of mines filled to the brim with dragonglass, one of the only weapons mentioned to actually harm the Others.

They didn't have enough information to make any solid plans, but they did come up with many that could be used in different situations.

The Stranger would come to them from time to time, never so much as looking in Arthur's direction, he seemed to find a twisted sort of amusement in tormenting Rhaegar. He would mock him mercilessly, force him to watch his fathers' atrocities, and the deaths of his family.. force him to watch his children die again and again. The god also seemed to enjoy reminding him of the fact that his only living son, _his Promised Prince_ , would end up a failure and the world would fall because of it.

It was maddening for him, to be unable to do his sworn duty and protect the crown prince, but every time he tried he found himself unable to move or speak. He could see the toll the god's visits had on his friend, the strain it put him under, but he could do _nothing_. And Arthur felt like _he_ was the failure. He was of the Kingsguard, it was his duty, his vow in essence was to protect the prince from the Stranger, even if this instance was far more literal then he ever imagined when he had sworn said vow.

At first the Sword of the Morning didn't understand _why_ the deity seemed to hate the Dragon Prince _so thoroughly_. But during one of his visits the god stated that just because Rhaegar would be bonded to his Champion, didn't mean SHE would belong to him. He wanted to make sure his friend understood, SHE was the Strangers, _his_ Chosen, _his_ Blessed, _his_ _Beloved_. And then it became obvious, the God of Death was _jealous._ He was jealous of the future relationship between the prince and the long awaited Champion, who was surprisingly enough, a _woman_.

It went against everything either man had learned of the gods, the Seven or otherwise. The Seven who are One, all gods, were _so far_ above men that thinking one was capable of feeling such an emotion as jealousy towards a man, born to a line of kings or no, was incomprehensible. But the more they listened as the deity spoke of the woman he almost always called Champion or Beloved, in such a.. loving tone, the more obvious it became.

The Stranger envied Rhaegar to some degree.

This fact served to give both of them an unrealistic vision of the woman who had inspired such possessiveness from a god, _surely_ she must be nearly divine herself..?

A small eternity passed before anything changed. And when the change occurred it was quite unexpected. One moment they were wrestling on the crystal colored grass, and then Rhaegar was gone. Arthur didn't have very long to panic, thinking the Stranger had finally decided to just throw the prince he hated so into the Seven Hells, before he too found himself in a new place for the first time in what seemed like forever.

It was a giant hall of sorts, strange and foreign to him.

But even odder still; the Stranger was in human form, not his usual appearance of a shadow bull/man, those silver eyes were impossible not to recognize. Even while taking in the new form the god was wearing, his focus was more on his friend who had quite literally disappeared out from under him. They met in the middle of the odd place, grasping arms in a warriors greeting, and exchanging a silent conversation through their eyes, assuring the other was well, which they had more than mastered by that point.

After making sure all _was_ in fact well the knight surveyed their surroundings, but his pale brown eyes froze when they landed on the small woman beside the Stranger. She was quite pretty, but young, she could not have seen even twenty namedays. Her frame was small and thin, with short boyish hair as dark as a ravens wing, and eyes of an emerald green so brilliant Cersei Lannister would trade the Rock to possess them.

Emerald eyes that were looking back at him, studying him as intently as he was her.

As soon as those eyes left him the endless world of white he had been in for so long went black, and Arthur woke up face down in the sands of his homeland.

Shaking his head to regain some of his equilibrium, and loose some of the sand in his shaggy tarnished silver hair, the knight gathered his wits about him. There would be time to think on his experiences in the Strangers realm later, for now he had to ensure he wouldn't be separated from the dragon twins inside the tower.

The twins that had _not_ been twins in Arthur's first memories of these events, Rhaegar and the young woman, the Stranger's Champion.

Rushing towards the entrance of the tower, Arthur felt more alike to a green boy getting his sea legs for the first time than the veteran knight he was. His legs barely felt strong enough to hold him up for his first few steps, and he stumbled more times than he cared to admit. Pausing, he searched the sand for his blade, but it seemed Eddard Stark wasn't a complete fool, he had _at least_ taken Arthur's sword before rushing off.

The heavy Kingsguard armor did little to slow him down as he sprinted up the spiraling steps of the tower, he knew Princess Lyanna was in the highest room, and that was where he'd find the new Lord Stark, and more importantly, the babes. It was unfathomable to the famed knight, to think of his best friend being reborn as his own son, reborn as the Prince Who Was Promised.

But again, he could think on that later.

Bursting through the heavy oaken door at the end of top most landing, The Sword of the Morning came to a stop at the sight laid out before him. The room was much the same as the last time he had been there, which felt like both hours, and an entire lifetime ago.

The air smelt of roses still, though the dozens of flowers strewn around the room had long since wilted and died. Personal effects, mostly the she-wolves though Rhaegar's harp was also by one of the larger windows, were placed here and there. Papers littered a desk off to the left, _important papers_ , papers they would need later to prove the children's legitimacy.

It was the people in the room most important in that moment though.

Eddard Stark was knelt at the side of the large feather bed, his long face seemingly frozen in an expression of terrible sadness and utter disbelief. His short, fat companion standing off to the side had tears freely flowing down his wind burnt cheeks. The wet nurse was in a corner of the large elegant room, looking as though she would rather be anywhere rather than where she found herself in that moment. And there, on the bed, was the new princess; grey eyes open but unseeing, blood coating her lower half, and two small babes resting on her unmoving breasts.

The Lady Lyanna Stark, the Princess Lyanna Targaryen, was dead.

Spying Dawn laid across the floor not far from Ned Stark, Arthur acted before either man could react to his sudden appearance. Grasping the blade of his House, the knight moved swiftly towards the bed. The fat little man made to put himself between Arthur and his liege lord, most probably thinking the Sword of the Morning was intending to attack the Quiet Wolf. But he need not worry, Arthur thought as he pushed the man aside, Eddard Stark was not the one he was headed towards.

The ruckus seemed to awaken the wolf from his dazed grief, and he stood, spinning to face the knight, though his own ancestral sword was still on the floor beside the bed holding his dead sister and the sleeping babes. But his lack of weapon made him too, easy to brush aside. As soon as he was standing beside the bed pale brown eyes inspected the babes, he had memories of seeing them before just after their birth, both as a set of twins, a girl and a boy, and as a single grey eyed boy that was no longer there.

The babes were quite large for newborns, both with pink skin that would no doubt turn as pale as snow, just like both their fair skinned parents, and both with tarnished silver hair not unlike his own. He found himself feeling thankful for that, it would be easier to explain than if they possessed the pure silver valyrian locks. Their other features were up to the gods to decide, the small faces scrunched and unrecognizable as taking after either parent just yet. That too was a blessing, though possibly a far shorter lived one.

It was unlikely that neither twin would end up resembling their 'father,' especially the boy, who was literally Rhaegar reborn.

Arthur was not a fool, he knew there would be many long years of secrecy to come. He also knew he had only two options in this situation; he could kill the Northern Lord and his bannerman, and take the children himself, or he could force Ned Stark to take him North with them. Assuming that was his plan. Both had advantages and disadvantages. But he and Rhaegar had discussed this in great detail, though they had been right in thinking Rhaegar would be born in place of his son, they hadn't accounted for the Stranger's Chosen being born as his twin.

It made little difference in the long run, but was quite the surprise.

He would stick to the plan and hope their assumption had been correct, that the Stark lord intended to take his niece and nephew to the North, but he doubted the wolf would be happy with his plan to accompany them. The famed knight was fine with that, he would simply not give the man much of a choice. The Quiet Wolf had a budding reputation as an honorable man, and that's what Arthur was depending on.

Dropping to his knees as the sound of steel scrapping against stone met his ears, Ned Stark had retrieved his sword- it mattered not, Arthur held his arms out, palms up, with Dawn laying across his hands in offering towards the babes. A gasp came from the men behind him, but he didn't turn to see their, no doubt, startled faces.

"I, Ser Arthur Dayne, son of Alric Dayne, Knight of the former Kingsguard, do upon this day swear my sword to the service of the living children of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, first of his name, heir of Dragonstone and the Seven Kingdoms, and Princess Lyanna Targaryen. I offer my service, my blade, my knowledge, and my eternal loyalty. I will shield their backs and keep their counsel and give my life for theirs, if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

No honorable man would separate a Sworn Sword from his charges.

 **Please take a moment to review. Let me know what you think about Ned and Arthur's Pov's.**


	3. Chapter 3

**.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **Hello! This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but it's kinda just an interlude between the introduction and the actual story. The next chapter will take place not long before canon starts. The story will be following the show, as I've never read the books.**

 **I have no beta, so any and all mistakes are my own. It you're interested in beta-ing for me PM me.**

 **I own nothing.**

3.

 _A Lie To Live With..._

Ned Stark...

 _"Promise me Ned.. Promise me!"_

The Warden of the North shot up with a pained gasp. Grey eyes, wild and pained, searched his surroundings frantically. Then it came to him, where he was, what had happened the day before.

Sitting at the edge of the feather bed, in the guest chambers he had been afforded the night before when he and his companions arrived in Starfell, in nothing but his breeches, Ned let his head fall forward in defeat, his dark brown curls falling forward to shield his face. Defeat, yes, that was an excellent word for what he was feeling in that moment.

For the past ten moons the young lord had held onto one hope, _one hope_ which got him through the battles and the blood shed and the grief, and now that hope was gone. Stolen before his very eyes. Lyanna was dead, and it had all been for naught. A terrible, empty laugh rumbled through his chest. _It had all been for naught, all of it_. His Lord Father and brothers' deaths, the war, the sacrifices, and the thousands of bodies that the two armies left in their wake, it had _all_ been pointless.

A misunderstanding that nearly salted the scorched ground they stood upon.

Because Lyanna _hadn't been_ kidnapped, she left _willingly_ with the Silver Prince, in some convoluted _business deal_ brokered in secret at the tourney of Harrenhal.

Though his sister hadn't told him the details, Ned had realized her choice to commit such an action could only be borne of her desperate desire to get out of the betrothal agreement with Robert. He had known that his sister wasn't exactly happy with the circumstances. She had made sure he knew how displeased she was with the idea of marrying his friend, and he had several scars to prove it, but he had _never imagined_ it was to such an extent that she would run off and marry another man to escape..

A man that was already wed and with children of his own. And not even out of love, but as some sort of exchange. A child for her freedom, those were her words.

Running a hand through his tangled curls, Ned sighed, was this -all this- his fault then? Did he cause this in his excitement to call Robert a true brother? Did he care so little for his own blood that he pushed his only sister to such desperation? Tears slid from his tightly closed eyes.

Lyanna had begged him to forgive her, _begged him_ to give her absolution in the face of their fathers' and brothers' deaths. And at the time he could do nothing but assure her that he didn't blame her, that he knew she had _never_ meant for anything that followed her doomed attempt to control her own fate to happen.

But as he sat there, in a room he had never seen, with his nephew and niece sleeping in another unfamiliar room just across from his, the Quite Wolf could not help but silently beg his sister for the same absolution she sought from him in her last moments. No, Lyanna was not to blame, he would be the one to shoulder that burden for the both of them.

The cry of a babe distracted the wolf from his melancholy.

Right, not all was lost, there was still a piece of his of his sister left in this world yet, two of them in fact.

Ned would honor her through her son and daughter. They were pack. He would protect them with his own life if need be, and _unfortunately,_ that just may be the case. For if Robert ever found out.. if he ever realized the truth of Lyanna and the Dragon Prince.. he ever got word of her children, of _Rhaegar's_ children.. All he could think of was that cruel glint that had been present in the stormy blue eyes of his childhood friend, his brother in all but blood, as he spat on the mangled and bloodied bodies of the royal children, deeming them _dragon spawn._

The Lord of the North would call his banners once again before he _ever_ let such a fate befall Lyanna's children.

But deep down, he was hoping it would never be necessary. That he would _never_ have to stand across a battle field from his closest friend in defense of his niece and nephew, he would, if there was no other choice, but it would _break_ something in him to have to do so. Besides, he had already sworn himself, and by proxy the North, to Robert's reign..

Standing, the young lord walked over to a basin set atop a dressing table across from the bed, splashing cool water over his still haggard face he came to a decision, he would claim the children as his own bastard's. It was an unfitting life for the children of Lyanna, for a Targaryen prince and princess, for the _rightful_ heir of the Seven Kingdoms, but it would allow them to grow into adulthood without starting another war.

And at the moment, that was the best he could hope for, the best he could offer his sisters children.

When he was presentable, or as close to it as he could be under the circumstances, Ned made his way to the room just across from his own. This was the room his niece and nephew were set in upon their arrival. The crying he heard earlier had stopped, so the Quiet Wolf assumed the wet nurse was with the babes, he was mistaken.

As he opened the door, Stark grey eyes landed on two of the three Dayne siblings.

Ashara, the girl he had once taken a fancy to what seemed like so long ago, was feeding one of the children from her own breast. A loving look upon her face as she gently caressed the babes short silver hair. Ned could not tell if it was the boy or girl, the babes were to young for such a distinction, but he didn't spend much time wondering, instead averting his eyes respectfully.

It was then he looked toward Arthur Dayne, the famed knight he fought in battle just the day before. It was strange, but the Northern lord hated him far more now that he knew the truth, than he _ever did_ whilst he believed the lie. It was irrational, and he couldn't even really say why, but that hatred burned in his gut as he saw the Sword of the Morning holding Lyanna's other child.

"Lord Reed set sail from Stars' Harbor with the dawn, along with the bodies of your fallen men, and the princess." Ser Arthur only glanced at him briefly before looking down into the indigo eyes of the infant he was holding.

It was the first time Ned saw one of the twins with their eyes open, and his stomach sank at seeing those eyes, _Rhaegar's eyes_.

"House Dayne has my thanks for both your hospitality and generosity in allowing us the use of one of your ships." He spoke respectfully, with forced -though genuine- gratitude.

"There is no need, Ned." Ashara spoke, directing a small smile towards the Stark lord, before she seemed to remember herself. "Forgive me, _Lord Stark._ " The young woman corrected herself, looking back to the babe in her arms.

"I was not informed you had wed." Ned spoke, as he watched the five and ten year old woman he danced with so long ago pat the back of the child.

"That is because I did not." The dark haired beauty rose a challenging eyebrow at the now flustered wolf.

"Forgive me.. And your child?" The young lord trailed off, feeling embarrassed, but his curiosity could not be ignored.

If she had not wed, then she must have borne a bastard.

"The gods took her not even a sennight past." Her lovely face crumpled in pain.

"The gods can be most cruel." Ser Arthur spoke to his sister softly before Ned himself could apologize for putting such a look on her beautiful face, then the knight stood placing the silent infant in the cot against the wall, and turned to the Quiet Wolf. "But in that cruelty we may just find the answer to our problem."

"You wish to pass the babes off as Ashara's natural born children." It was not a question, and though it made a great deal of sense, Ned could not help but bristle at the idea.

"My daughter was your brothers child, Lord Stark." Ashara too stood, cradling the babe still in her arms. "My household knows this, though few are aware the babe was taken by the Stranger. I am sure a great deal of Dorne, at the very least, is also aware I was carrying Brandon's child. The Spider will no doubt know it, and tell the Usurper if asked. These children have lost their mother, and I my child, we are a perfect fit. No?"

"I was planing to claim them as my own bastards." He decided not to comment on the title she used to referred to Robert, it was doubtful his friend would ever be shown any love in Dorne. And then Ned gasped, for the other twin too had it's eyes open.

He had never seen eyes of the like. His parents, all his siblings, and _he himself_ had Stark grey eyes, but none that could compare to the child in Ashara's arms. Those eyes were _not_ Stark grey, they were so much lighter, _so much brighter_ , like stars shining out of the tiny face. Liquid silver. Beautiful in a way that was almost _inhuman_ , and easily took his breath away.

"And pray tell, how would you explain their hair? Silver hair is well known as either a Valyrian or Dayne trait." Ser Arthur asked, pulling the wolf's attention from the babe's otherworldly eyes. The knight had a stubborn look on his face, and he took a step closer to Ned, his jaw set.

"Their hair is but a few shades lighter than mine own. And what of the boy's eyes? Those eyes _are Targaryen_ , they're _Rhaegar's eyes,_ and the only hope of covering that up is to let Ashara claim them, it is not an exact match, but it is close. It will also explain why I have sworn myself to them, none in the Seven Kingdom's will believe I swore myself to Ned Stark's bastard children, but they will believe I have to my niece and nephew."

* * *

 _Arthur..._

Eddard Stark was a stubborn bastard.

It took several _hours_ to convince the Northern lord to their way of thinking. He was so set on claiming Rhaegar and the girl with the Stranger's eyes as his own, despite how problematic such a thing would be. The Sword of the Morning could tell it was the wolf's way of trying to make amends, for what he didn't know, but whatever the reason, it was the wrong way to go about it.

Not only was it more convenient, and more importantly _believable_ , to name the babes as Ashara and Brandon Stark's, but it would also be better for the _children themselves_. The Lord of the North was newly wed, and had an heir off his young wife, an heir _a full moon_ older than the twins. The Tully's were known as cold fish, and Arthur could only imagine what reaction the young woman would have to her new lord husband bringing home, not one but _two_ 'bastards,' younger than her _true-born_ son.

The knight would not let his best friend and prince be mistreated for a Tully woman's hurt pride, neither would he allow such a thing to befall the girl Princess Lyanna had lovingly called Alysanne.

Besides that, he rationalized, if they were claimed as Eddard Stark's bastards they would never be seen as anything more, and always second to his true-born children, at best. But they would be Brandon Stark's _only_ children, and Brandon Stark was far more loved in the North than the current lord had _ever_ been. Ned Stark was raised in the Veil, he was more an Arryn than a Stark. The true Heir of Winterfell however, spent his entire life in the North, he fostered there, and had connections to every House north of the Neck.

The twin's would have been the Quiet Wolf's _shame_ , but they would be the Wild Wolf's _legacy_.

Arthur would settle for _nothing less_ for them, if they were to be raised as bastards, _at least_ they would be beloved bastards.

And the truth is, people are _far more_ loved in death than they could ever achieve in life. If the Heir of Winterfell had been beloved whilst alive, he was _revered_ by the Northern Houses in death. And that love and devotion will pass over to 'his' children. It was perhaps cold hearted of him, but the famed knight knew this perception would go a long way to winning Rhaegar the lords when the time came for him to reclaim the throne with his 'sister' by his side.

Hopefully they would rejoice when they knew the truth, that the twins were, in fact, the children of the Winter Rose.

Deciding on the twins supposed parentage was only the _first_ of their problems, though also the most difficult to resolve.

Their names also caused some argument between the Sword of the Morning, Ashara, and the Quiet Wolf. The Stark lord wanted to call the boy Jon, and name the girl for her mother or grandmother before her, Lyanna or Lyarra. Arthur and Ashara argued against both of these suggestions, for vastly different reasons. The knight refused to have his prince named for _Jon Arryn_ of all people. And Ashara argued that just because they could not honor Lyanna's choice of name for her children did not mean they could not respect her decision.

In the end it was his sister who got her way, not a surprise to Arthur, Ashara almost always got what she desired, one way or another. Rhaegar _obviously_ could not be called Aegon, but they could still give him a Targaryen name, just a less obvious one. So the male twin was quickly dubbed Daemon by his sister, a Targaryen name to be sure, but one quite popular in Dorne. The girls name was shortened from Alysanne to Alys, a commonly used name in the North.

Eddard Stark however refused to budge when it came to which bastard name they would carry. It didn't matter much to Arthur, he hated both options equally. But Ashara was less than pleased with the idea of 'her' children, children born in _Dorne_ , carrying the name Snow instead of Sand. The wolf argued that the babes would be raised in the North, no mater where they were born, so it was more fitting.

In the end the knight had to give his sister a _look_ , telling her to just let the man have his way in this one instance, after all, as far as the Stark lord was concerned, nothing else was going to plan for him.

Finally the arrangements on moving the twins to Winterfell was discussed, again Ned Stark was promptly shut down. Both Dayne siblings outright refused to allow the children to be brought to Kings Landing and presented to the Usurper when the Stark lord went to deliver the news of the Princess' death to the False King personally. The argument got so heated swords were almost drawn right there in the nursery.

The Sword of the Morning would take the Northern Lords head before he allowed his defenseless charges to be brought into that den of death and blood. Allowed them to be in the same room where the other royal children along with their mother were offered up as broken twisted trophies to be spat on and stepped over as if nothing more than rubbish in the streets.

It was only Ashara heatedly reminding both men where they were, and the reminder there was a woman and two babes in the room, that stayed their hands.

In the end it was decided that the twins would stay in Starfell with the Dayne's for two moons whilst the siblings got everything in order for their move to Winterfell. Then Arthur, Ashara, the babes, and two dozen of their household guards would make their way North via ship to White Harbor where they would live for the foreseeable future.

When everything was agreed upon, no matter how begrudgingly, Arthur nearly ran for the door, absolutely done with the entire ordeal. He was a knight, a man of action, not one to sit around arguing semantics for hours. He was itching for a spar and to feel the last of the suns dying rays on his face. But before he made it through the nursery door there was a demanding yell from the indigo eyed babe, it seemed Rhaegar wanted out of the room as badly as his most loyal friend and supporter.

Never one to deny his prince, Arthur went to retrieve the infant, and was only mildly surprised to see the glare in the girls liquid silver eyes.

When the Sword of the Morning _finally_ left the room, it was with a put upon sigh and both arms holding a silver haired babe that really wasn't a babe at all.

 **Please take a second to review!**

 **I'm not very happy with this chapter, but it's mostly just filler until the actual story starts in the next chapter, and I've read it over like four times and can't figure out how to fix it to my liking, soooo here it is!**

 **Onto the incest which has been brought up in many reviews...**

 **Is Daemon/Rhaegar June/Alys' father...? My opinion on that is NO. Rhaegar and June in mind and soul are complete strangers from different universes. She was never supposed to be born in the GoT world, and Rhaegar was never supposed to take Jon's place if not for the actions of Death. Both bodies they now inhabit are made from a combination of Rhaegar and Lyanna's DNA, so technically they are siblings, twins. But if you're judging by DNA make up than Rhaegar is no longer Rhaegar at all, so either way, by either blood or soul, he is not her father.**

 **And anyway, if you don't like incest you should have never clicked on this story, as a warning for Twincest is clearly written in the summary, so stop coming crying to me when you don't like it.**


End file.
